


Satellites

by SweetxNightmare



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetxNightmare/pseuds/SweetxNightmare
Summary: "And we were bold over the worldWe were flying through the satellites.We had ahold of the lightning strikesWhen we should have been afraid of heights."-Ricochet, StarsetHe was her best friend, and she didn't want to ruin a good thing.Collection of oneshots exploring Shepard and Garrus' friendship and eventual relationship.





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Shepard struggles with painful memories, and Garrus is always willing to listen.
> 
>  
> 
> Going with default Jane Shepard for these stories, Colonist Sole Survivor, mostly Paragon but occasionally makes some tough choices. Or just loses her temper. All stories will be in chronological order, starting with ME1. This is my first attempt at a ME fanfic, so please be kind. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect, the characters, the story, or the brand, I just really love it.

**Chapter 1**

 

It was a quiet day cycle on the Normandy. 

It was a rare moment that her crew wasn’t being shot at, running for their lives, or running to save someone else’s life. They had restocked at the Citadel that morning, then left for the next mission. However, for the past few hours, there was no word from the illustrious Commander Shepard. None of her squad had seen her, and all Joker would say was that they would get underway as soon as she gave the word. So the whole crew settled in for a quiet day. After all, even Spectres need rest. 

So Garrus found himself next to the Mako, as usual, carefully cleaning and reassembling his weapons. For the third time. The motions were second nature to him; it was easy to let his mind wander as he pulled apart the familiar pieces. He heard Wrex, across the cargo hold, sigh in exasperation as he started the process again.

“Problem?” Garrus shot the krogan a glance before refocusing on the sniper rifle he was currently breaking down. Again. 

“You should take the chance to rest while you can,” Wrex rumbled. 

“This is how I relax.” 

“Seriously?” When Garrus didn’t respond Wrex wandered away, mumbling something about turians with sticks up their asses. 

That was when Garrus heard it, a sound so quiet Ashley at the workbench didn’t seem to hear it. He shrugged, going back to his work. He heard it again. It sounded like someone catching something. This time he caught the sound that followed; a soft rush of air like the object being tossed again. He circled the Mako, knowing there was nothing underneath from his tuneup of the vehicle around two hours ago. He hadn’t left its side since then. Out of places to look, he opened the driver’s side door, only to find Commander Shepard sitting in the passenger’s side seat, tossing a rubber ball — a stress ball, she had called it, frowning when he’d laughed at the concept — into the air and catching it, over and over. Her head leaned back on the headrest, her red hair contrasting with the black seats, her face almost blank. Almost. 

“In or out, Vakarian,” she mumbled, not pausing her tossing. He considered just closing the door and leaving her to her thoughts, but climbed in anyways, closing the door behind him. 

Shepard stared into the darkness, the cabin of the Mako almost completely black. Her mind was a storm of memory and emotion, but it had calmed a bit in the nearly four hours since leaving the citadel. She tried not to think about that morning. That morning had reminded her of a lot of things she preferred to forget. 

“You okay, Commander?” she heard the hesitant, dual toned voice to her left and wondered if she was, in fact, ‘okay’. 

“No,” she answered simply, catching her stress ball and squeezing it tightly. They sat in silence for a long time, or maybe it only felt like a long time. Shepard wasn’t sure that she wanted someone else to see her like this, but she knew she didn’t want to be alone. 

“How much do you know about me?” she finally asked; she was used to Alliance superiors knowing everything about her and her past, but she knew the Council would have classified her files the moment she became a spectre. 

“No living relatives, joined the Alliance at eighteen,” the answer was prompt and clinical. “I remember thinking how weird it was that you were so old when you joined.” 

“Turians think eighteen is old?” Shepard scoffed. 

“For joining the military, yeah.” 

“Oh. Right. Mandatory service. I forgot, sorry,” she waved her hand, inviting him to continue. 

“After that everything was classified.” Shepard considered for a long moment, wondering just how much she wanted to fill him in on. Garrus was part of her crew now, and she didn’t like having secrets between members of her crew. Even so, it was hard to talk about. 

“I grew up on Mindoir,” she started slowly, carefully, feeling like the air had suddenly filled with suffocating water. Or maybe just the essence of death. But it was too late to stop now; she may as well get it off her chest. “You remember the girl on the docks? Talitha?” 

“This morning? Yeah, I remember her.” 

“She lived on Mindoir too. Until…” Shepard stopped suddenly, squeezing the ball in her hand so tightly it was just barely visible in her fist. She took a steadying breath. 

Mindoir was hard for her to talk about. Harder still to think about. That’s why Shepard had decided a long time not to, insofar as she possibly could. It was a distant and cold event that happened and it was over; when her superiors asked about it, she rattled off the same details in her file, a handy script that kept her from having to revisit that day. Talitha had ruined that resolution, bringing back every memory Shepard had of the worst days of her life. 

“Batarians attacked, looking for slaves,” Shepard could still smell the fires burning her home, hear the screams of the defenseless colony, the gunshots taking her family and friends from her, _bang, bang, bang._ “Talitha was one of the many taken, but plenty were just killed.” She searched for her words, but they wouldn’t come. She could still feel the strain in her legs as she pushed herself faster, the burning in her lungs as she refused to stop for breath. Hands caught her shoulders and threw her back, and the next thing she remembered was standing over two dead batarians, holding a smoking pistol she hadn’t had before, her body scratched and bruised from her struggling. She was pulled from her memories by a slight weight on her shoulder. She didn’t look at Garrus, not wanting to see the pity she knew she would find, but glad she hadn’t sent him away. 

“I was the only one left. I hid in an abandoned cellar for a few days until they left. The Alliance found me a couple of days after that,” Shepard shook her head as if to clear it. “I haven’t thought about it in years, but meeting Talitha… She brought everything back. So I hid like a coward until I could get it back under control,” she snarled the insult at herself, throwing the ball at the darkened windshield of the Mako. The ball bounced away into the darkness, and she regretted her outburst, her hands now empty. 

“I don’t think you’re a coward,” Garrus’ voice was quiet, and she clenched her fists in her lap. 

“The worst part is knowing that could have been me,” her voice was quiet, angry, sorrow all in one. “I could’ve been the one so messed up that I’d rather have a bullet in my brain than be free. Or maybe I feel like it _should_ have been me, and not her. She was just a kid.” 

“But now she has the chance to recover,” he pointed out. “And, with all due respect Commander, you’re too stubborn to end up like Talitha.” She sniffled, but she couldn’t stop the tiny smile.

“Smartass. Keep that up and I’ll dump you back on the Citadel,” the threat held no weight, and she took his hand, giving it a small but grateful squeeze. “Thanks Garrus.” They sat in silence for several moments until Shepard couldn’t stand it anymore. She popped open the door.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I have a job to get back to. See you later,” she practically ran from the cargo hold, suddenly having the urge to be anywhere else. She’d never talked about Mindoir to anyone that wasn’t a commanding officer. She’d known Garrus maybe three weeks, if she was being generous. _What the hell, Shepard?_  

“What was that you said earlier about kissing turians?” Ashley’s voice made her jump about a foot in the air, ruining her Commander glare and breaking her cool façade. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Williams,” she snapped. “I just need a little time to clear my head.” 

“Uh huh. So, Commander, tell me why you’ve been sitting in the Mako together for the past twenty minutes?” 

“We are not having this conversation, Williams,” Shepard tried to brush past the gunnery chief, but Ashley stepped in her path, blocking the elevator to _any other deck but here_. 

“What’s the problem, Commander? If you’re worried about what the crew would think…” 

“Willaims, he’s just a friend. You’ve had those, right?” Shepard spat the words, and instantly regretted them as she saw Ashley’s face fall, her eyes hardening. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean that.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Ashley grumbled. She started to storm off back to her work bench, then looked back. “By the way, ‘just friends’ don’t hide next to each others’ stations for four hours hoping they’ll find you.” 

Shepard had no words.


	2. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard deals with the aftermath of Virmire. Luckily her best friend is there to be her shoulder to cry on. Or drink on. Either one.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect or anything related to it.

**Chapter 2: Loss**

Shepard had never felt so empty as she rode down to the cargo hold. The poor Mako was still smoking from their latest adventure through Virmire. Her hands clenched in fury, in loss, in regret. _Should’ve nuked the place from space._ Wrex and Garrus had both gone to the medbay with minor injuries. She knew the excuse was bullshit, but she was grateful to have a moment alone.

Ashley’s workbench was exactly as she left it, as if she’d just gone to the mess for a bite to eat. Her favorite weapons were gone, save for the assault rifle she’d had on Eden Prime, before joining the Normandy. Ash had told Shepard it was a reminder of what she had lost that day. Shepard reached out, as if to run her hands along the weapon, only to stop short. It felt like sin to be touching Ash’s things. Shepard dragged over a stool and sat at the bench, just staring at the tools and weapon mods neatly lining the back against the wall.

Shepard felt lower than low for leaving Ashley behind. She wanted to rage and scream and hunt down Saren and make him pay for her death in the slowest way Shepard could think of. But instead the commander just sat and stared, the tears she’d been fighting against finally falling.

She wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or hours when she heard footsteps behind her from the elevator. She quickly wiped her face on her sleeve, trying to wipe away the evidence of her pain, her regret, though she knew there was no way to hide the blotchy, flushed skin or her swollen, red eyes.

“How’re you holding up?” the flanged voice was thicker than normal; though they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, Garrus and Ashley had developed a tentative friendship between them, despite both of their preconceptions of the other. It was hard for Shepard to fathom that there were other people hurting, maybe even as much as she was, from Ash’s loss.

“How do you think?” Shepard’s voice was hoarse, giving away her grief. She heard a scraping noise, then Garrus had sat next to her, joining her in staring at the workbench, but not touching. It occurred to Shepard that this was the closest they would get to a headstone for her; with no body, there would be no real grave. She was sure Ashley’s family would have some kind of memorial marker for her, but it would never hold as much meaning as her grubby but organized work station. Garrus offered her a bottle, some kind of asari alcohol it looked like, and she took it gratefully. He had his own drink, and together they nursed their sorrows.

“I should’ve saved her,” Shepard croaked, halfway through the bottle. She was feeling the effects surprisingly quickly; asari alcohol was the only type of drink that really got her drunk without tasting like absolute death. “I was her commander. It should have been me.”

“It’s not your fault, Shepard,” Garrus’ voice was quiet, his gaze fixed on a scope he’d given her as a peace offering during his early days on the Normandy. “She knew what she was doing.”

“I don’t care. She was under my command and I let her down.”

“She died a hero.”

“I don’t want her to be a hero! I want her to be alive!” Shepard shouted louder than she meant to, and there were the tears again. She took a long drink, wishing she’d pass out and not have to feel all this guilt.

“Ash would’ve been pissed if you’d tried to save her,” Garrus pointed out. “She wouldn’t have thanked you for leaving Kaiden, or staying instead of them.” Shepard knew he was right, but that didn’t make her feel any better; she took another drink.

“It shouldn’t have happened. We should have known. Why didn’t we know?” Their eyes locked as she begged for a reason, any reason, for why they hadn’t had warning, why they hadn’t been prepared, why Ashley had to die.

“Listen, Shepard. Plans don’t always work out. Sometimes people die. If it weren’t for you, Kaiden and Ash would’ve both died. We couldn’t save her, but we can make Saren pay for it. We can stop him because of her,” Garrus rested his hand on her’s, and for a moment instead of being commander and squadmate, they were just friends, two friends grieving a third. Shepard considered for a moment shaking it off, but she left it there; it was nice having someone to lean on. She remembered Ash making fun of her for spending so much time with Garrus and felt a pang. She’d give anything to have Ashley back. She took another drink.

Before the hour was over their bottles were empty and both soldiers were loudly telling war stories, laughing and crying in equal measure.

“The first time you took her on the Mako, I thought she was going to mutiny!” Garrus chuckled, only barely keeping his balance on the stool. Shepard had long since slumped to the ground next to the lockers, clinging to the now empty bottle.

“Didn’t she throw up when I finally parked it? I’d thought she had a stronger stomach than that!” Shepard’s words slurred together as she went for another drink, frowning at the bottle when she was reminded of its emptiness.

“To be fair, your driving is like riding a drunken…what was it called? A rhino?”

“Haha, very funny,” she made to stand, but didn’t last long before sliding back down. “Guess I’ll just stay here then.”

“Where were you going?”

“My quarters. I think I need a nap.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than he was offering her a helping hand up. Shepard took a step only to find the ground getting uncomfortably close just before being caught around the waist. “Damn Garrus, what was in that bottle? I never get drunk.”

“Not sure. Liara just promised it worked on biotics,” he shrugged, and she giggled. Somewhere in her hazy brain she decided she wasn’t mad at him for getting her drunk; she’d needed a moment where she could just _be._

“I’ll have to ask her later then,” the words flowed out like water, all falling over each other. Putting one foot in front of the other had never been so hard, she felt like. She didn’t even make it to the elevator before she was basically just being drug alongside the turian. He leaned her against the wall to punch the correct deck button; when he turned back, she had slumped back to the floor.

“What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?” she mumbled out, the words barely intelligible. He laughed, slightly out of breath from dragging her through the Normandy back to her room.

“I dunno. I am, what is it you humans say? Quite the fish?”

“Quite a catch,” she corrected with a laugh. It was easy to forget how different they were sometimes, but his ineptitude with human idioms was always right on time to remind her.

They finally made it to her cabin; it was lucky for her that it was operated by omnitool, because she never would have been able to operate an old fashioned key. Garrus helped her to the bed, where she collapsed with a barely audible goodnight. For now, she would sleep, forgetting all the horrible surrounding them. When she woke? There would be nowhere Saren could hide from her fury.


	3. Relay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ground team has to go now if they're going to have a chance.

**Chapter 3**

 

Shepard’s head swirled with everything the prothean VI had told her. The Citadel, the center hub for life in the galaxy, seat of their government, would also be their destruction if they didn’t do something fast. Garrus and Wrex followed her back to the Mako, and she knew there was only one way they were going to make it back to the Citadel in time.

“Joker,” Shepard called through the comms. “Go to the Citadel, now.”

“Alright, preparing for—”

“No, there’s no time, go now!” she threw open the driver’s side door and hopped in the Mako; it roared to life under her as her companions climbed in.

“But—”

“We’ll meet you there, Shepard out,” she closed the link and revved the engine. She could see a horde of geth ready to stop her. “Wrex, you’re on the gun, keep the geth off us. Garrus, keep those shields up at all costs.”

“What’re you doing, Shepard?” Garrus sounded apprehensive. She had that look on her face, that expression when she was staring death in the face and dared it to stop her.

“We’re going through the prothean relay,” she said simply, then slammed on the accelerator, throwing them all back against their seats.

“Shepard, mass relays go through space!” Garrus shouted over the engine and Wrex’s maniacal laughter.

“It’ll be fine!” she insisted, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she’d lost her mind.

“The Mako isn’t spaceworthy!” he took a look at the display. “Shields at fifty percent!”

“Take power from the lift thrusters!” she called back. “We’ll only be in space for a split second. As long as shields are up, it’ll hold!”

“Commander, out of all your crazy ideas this is by far the craziest!”

“Do you trust me?” The question caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?” she gritted out, swerving around a group of geth; the Mako tipped to one side before righting.

“Of course.”

“Good. Someone in this tank needs to believe in me,” she slammed her foot on the accelerator as they rammed a huge geth, going airborn as the machine was thrown to the ground.

“Shields at thirty percent.”

“Hold the damn shields!” Shepard didn’t have enough time to be evasive. She activated the tank’s simplistic auto pilot, her body beginning to glow blue with biotics. She watched as the Mako drove ever closer to the relay; this would be their only chance, and she had to make it count.

“When I say so, put every ounce of power we have into the shields.”

The relay came closer; she could hear the hum of the mass effect fields through the walls around her. Geth closed in, firing with everything they had. Shepard clenched her teeth; she just needed the shields to hold a little longer…

“NOW!” she flung her arms out, pushing biotic power through the Mako’s mass effect core and into the shields just as the Mako stalled, its momentum sending it flying into the relay.

It was a heartstopping moment for everyone on board. Warning lights flashed with what little power they had. Shields were quickly fading, despite the commander’s best efforts to keep them online. Shepard’s body shook with the effort of holding the Mako together. The trip lasted only moments, but they were some of the most harrowing moments of Shepard’s life.

Then the Mako was crashing down on the Citadel, rolling over and over until finally it was still. Shepard dropped her biotic fields with a hiss, the amp under her skin burning, every limb feeling like a wet noodle. She threw the door open, barely managing to escape the upside down vehicle with her own strength. She knew she was going to have to bounce back pretty quickly if they were going to salvage the mission.

“Garrus, can you find me some medigel and an emergency stim?” Shepard winced as she touched the back of her neck; she’d be feeling that stunt for days. But she didn’t have time to let it heal, she had to stop Saren and Sovereign.

The turian nodded and started going through the debris littering the inside of the Mako. The tank had driven its last mission, it seemed; even the emergency power was depleted, both the inside and outside beaten and sparking. After a little digging, he found a medical kit kept under the driver’s seat normally that had been knocked behind the gun controls.

“Commander, are you sure it’s safe?” Garrus handed over the supplies reluctantly, his concern warring with the desire to follow orders.

“No, but you know what else isn’t safe? The Reapers,” she grumbled as she massaged the medigel into the base of her skull, biting her lip against the sharp pain before the area went numb. Shepard jammed the needle of the stim into her arm as carefully as she could manage while being in a rush. She knew stims were dangerous in the best of times. Not only was she exhausted from the trip through the relay, but stims were known to have some bad side effects among biotics. She’d just have to take it easy on the biotics until her amp cooled and hope she could at least take out Saren before the side effects kicked in. She jumped to her feet, feeling the surge of energy flow through her. She drew her pistol.

“Time to kick some ass!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is really just fulfilling my headcannon of how the Mako was actually able to make it through the relay in mostly one piece. Sorry it's so short, but it is important.


	4. Archangel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard's on a new mission, looking for new recruits, and finds an old friend.

**Chapter 4**

 

Omega was a filthy place. Shepard couldn’t believe she was looking for recruits here of all places. Even less believable was her working for Cerberus, and least believable of all was her being brought back from the dead. All in all, it had been a very unbelievable few days.

On her right she was flanked by Miranda, Cerberus agent and lead of the project that brought Shepard back to life. On her left was Zaeed, a mercenary they had picked up just earlier that day; as long as the Illusive Man paid his paychecks, he’d be a powerful ally. Somewhere on Omega was Archangel, a mysterious vigilante trying to right the wrong that was Omega.

They didn’t know much about him; Shepard had gleaned from conversations with the merc bands that he was turian, a skilled shot, and confident enough to take on the krogan leader of the Blood Pack on his own. There was a tiny little voice in the back of her mind that suggested that maybe, just maybe, she knew his real identity, but she was hesitant to say anything. As the three of them approached the bridge that was the only way in or out of Archangel’s lair, she finally decided the information was too important to keep to herself.

“So, I think I may know Archangel,” Shepard hated mights and maybes, but she’d known these people for days at the longest; she couldn’t throw their lives into danger on a hunch, especially when they didn’t trust her any more than she trusted them.

“You think? Or you know?” Zaeed raised an eyebrow, and her confidence wavered.

“I’m fairly confident,” she muttered. “But if I’m right, as long as he can see me he won’t hurt us.”

“Just how certain are you?” Miranda challenged. Shepard thought for a long moment; she hated being questioned when _she_ was the one that stopped Sovereign and Miranda was just some Cerberus lapdog, but she had to decide what was just her hoping and what was based on fact. After all, it was a long way across the bridge with no cover and a sniper overhead.

“…Twenty percent.”

“Twenty?! You want us to risk our lives on twenty bloody percent?!” Zaeed growled. Shepard shook her head.

“No. I’m going to risk mine,” she slipped off her helmet, setting it on the ground, then stepped out of cover, pistol drawn just in case one of the mercenaries turned on her. She waited, listening for the telltale sound of a sniper rifle. Her eyes shot up to a balcony above when she heard it fire.

It was definitely turian armor, mostly hidden by the cover of his sniper nest and the rifle in his hands. She saw him aim in her direction, but when he looked through the scope he seemed to freeze. Almost as if he’d seen a ghost. She stared back, hoping she was right. A heartbeat passed, and he fired. The concussive round bounced off her shields harmlessly, barely causing damage. She knew.

“A hundred percent!” she shouted back to her companions, taking off across the bridge at a sprint. The mercs in her path dropped like flies, felled by either her pistol or the sniper overhead. She was prepared to be wrong, but she knew somewhere in her gut that she wasn’t. The thudding footsteps on her heels told her that Zaeed and Miranda had followed and, as she predicted, hadn’t been gunned down.

They finally reached what felt like an abandoned apartment building of some sort. It had certainly seen better days, with furniture and bullet holes covering the majority of it. Shepard looked around and wondered how long he’d been holding this position alone. She gunned down the few mercs that made it across the bridge and proceeded up the stairs, feeling suddenly hesitant. To think that out of all places in the galaxy that she’d run into her old friend here… It was almost too much to hope for.

“Archangel?” Shepard was suddenly hesitant; what if she’d been played? Archangel moved away from his perch and removed his helmet.

“Shepard. I thought you were dead,” the turian sounded absolutely exhausted, but Shepard couldn’t help the huge grin on her face.

“Garrus!”

~*~

Not trusting the way Garrus had swayed on his feet, Shepard left Zaeed with him while she cleared out the Blood Pack mercs attacking below. After that there was a gunship and more mercs, nothing they couldn’t handle, even being down a person. It was a never ending wave, though, and Shepard knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. When she heard renewed gunfire upstairs from the sniper’s nest she launched herself back up them two at a time.

Her merry band all ducked behind cover as the fresh gunship opened fire on them. Shepard looked across the room to see Garrus pinned down behind a crate nowhere near large enough to provide full cover. He had no choice but to move. Shepard could only watch as, almost as if in slow motion, a rocket collided with her best friend. All the air seemed to leave the room when he fell.

“Garrus!” she launched toward him, only for Miranda to throw her back into cover as the gunship fired again.

“Remember where you are, Shepard,” the Cerberus agent warned.

“You go out there and you’ll be the next one playing catch with a rocket launcher,” Zaeed agreed, throwing a grenade towards the ship but missing fantastically. Shepard’s teeth and fists clenched as her biotics began to flare in her fury. She hadn’t come back from the dead just to watch her best friend die. She drew her shotgun and, with an almighty roar of fury, leaped from cover and used her biotics to charge the gunship.

One heartbeat. She slammed into the operator of the gun. He flew back into the side of the ship and fell in a daze.

Two heartbeats. She whirled on the pilot and shot him point blank in the forehead as he turned towards her. His brains decorated the console as he fell limp.

Three heartbeats. She turned back to the gunner. She shoved the shotgun into his abdomen and pulled the trigger. He fell back, alive but fatally wounded. He would burn in the wreck of the gunship.

Shepard leaped off the ship as it went down, holstering her shotgun as she sprinted towards the eerily still figure on the ground.

“Fucking hell, Shepard,” she heard Zaeed from lightyears away as she knelt at her friend’s side. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

“Vakarian, don’t you dare die on me,” she muttered, reaching for his neck, afraid of finding no pulse. Before she could even touch him, his eyes snapped open and a breath came with the most horrible choking sound she’d heard since being spaced. And there was suddenly blood everywhere. It was the wrong color, the wrong smell, wrong consistency, but she knew it was blood.

“He’s not gonna make it,” Zaeed’s somber assertion brought Shepard back from the brink of panic with a snarl.

“Like hell! Miranda, find me some bandages and medigel. Zaeed, radio the Normandy and patch them through to me.” Miranda was already back with the requested supplies. “Sorry Garrus, this is gonna sting.” She smeared medigel on the wound and heard a gurgling groan. She tried to block out the pained keening while she used the bandages to apply pressure. Her comms clicked to life.

“Normandy to ground crew.”

“Joker! I need Chakwas and Jacob with a stretcher now! Garrus is injured.”

“Garrus? What happened to Archangel?”

“ _Now_ , Joker.”

“Doctor Chakwas is en route to your location, Commander,” the ship’s AI chimed in her ear, the mechanical voice pleasant and soothing.

“Thank you, EDI,” Shepard was laser focused on her task, her hands shaking like leaves in a hurricane. She had lost Ashley on Virmire, she wasn’t about to lose another member of her team.

~*~

If it had been anyone but Chakwas, Shepard wouldn’t have left the medbay. As it was, Chakwas had nearly had to walk her out at gunpoint. So, for a while, Shepard stood outside, restlessly pacing while avoiding the eyes of Cerberus employed crew members. The only person she let anywhere near her was Joker. For once in his life, the pilot was quiet. Maybe he knew she needed time in her own head, or maybe just company without complicated explanations. At the two hour mark, Shepard couldn’t stand there just waiting anymore. She wandered up to the debriefing room, only partially surprised to find Jacob there.

Shepard half heard Jacob, registering only that Garrus took a bad hit, but would be okay thanks to some cybernetics. _At least I’m not the only one around here that’s half robot._ The relief she felt was a tangible thing; the horrible, thick cloud of worry cleared away. Surrounded as she was by Cerberus, she desperately wanted—no, needed—someone she trusted to watch her six. Almost on que, she heard the door open and turned to find Garrus standing there, almost like nothing had happened except for the hole in his armor and the bandage holding is face together.

“No one will give me a mirror,” he complained. “How bad is it?” Shepard couldn’t help the relieved smile; this new, rebuilt Normandy was starting to feel a lot more like home.

“Hell Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some facepaint on it and no one will even notice,” he laughed at her joke, and for a moment she felt like she had never died, like it was all some awful dream and she was awake and safe now. But she had scars that glowed and half his face was blasted off by a rocket, ruining any illusion that they had simply imagined the last two horrible years. She felt a deep pang of guilt. Shepard knew that people getting hurt was part of her job description, but she couldn’t help but feel like she should have prevented this. On top of that, now she was going to ask him to go on a suicide mission with her. Her heart hurt at the idea that she may actually be asking him to die for this, but she knew she needed the best, and he was one of them. She gave her head a tiny shake, as if scaring away flies. She could worry about that later. For now, she had some catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone that's been reading so far, I'm glad y'all like it. <3 I live off the comments I get, so don't be shy to leave one!


	5. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alchera wasn't just a gravesite, it was her gravesite. When it hits her harder than expected, she goes looking for comfort.

**Chapter 5**

Alchera was a land of snow and chills, both the physical and emotional. Shepard stood among the ice, wind blowing against her protective armor as if it wanted to sweep her away under the ruins of her first ship. Pieces of the Normandy SR1 surrounded her on all sides, ripped apart like a child’s toy. She felt a heavy weight on her heart; she’d been warned that all she had been was _meat and tubes_ , to use Jacob’s words, but somehow she had either wanted to find the Normandy intact, or not at all. She steeled her nerves; she wasn’t here to sightsee, she had a job to do.

Once Shepard had finished up on Omega, she’d insisted on visiting the planet. She didn’t want to say so, but she wanted to see the evidence that everything had happened. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she was just a fake, some kind of clone or AI created thinking that it was Commander Shepard. Somehow she felt seeing the wreckage she’d gone down with would help remind her that she was real. She spotted an Alliance dog tag and picked it up gently, with as much reverence as she could with the clumsy fingers of her armor. She clung to its chain as she continued onwards; according to her intel, there were twenty strewn about the ruined ship. The least she could do as their commander was find them and send them home.

The wind made it difficult to navigate, but not impossible. Shepard dragged her way around the site; nearest her shuttle was the hull bearing the ship’s name. She stared at it for a long moment before deciding this was a good place to put the memorial she’d been provided. She trudged back to the shuttle and dragged the statue over to an open place in front of the hull, securing it to the ground as best she could. If the weather was like this all the time on Alchera she knew the memorial wouldn’t last forever, but it made her feel a little better to have a monument to remember her first ship.

She had wandered through the ice blocks for a while, picking up dog tags along the way, when she found the Mako. She touched it tenderly, remembering all the planetary explorations, the laughing, the occasional screaming when she went careening off a cliff. She remembered Garrus working on it for a month after taking out Saren, insisting on fixing it instead of replacing it. It took everything she had to turn away from it; maybe they both were just a couple of sentimental old soldiers.

She found the remnants of the cargo hold next, and her gut felt like it had turned inside out. She remembered sitting at Ashley’s workbench after Virmire, drinking away her pain with Garrus. She remembered thinking it was kind of like a headstone for their friend. Now it was in shambles; she could see the twisted metal that may have been the table. There was no sign of the assault rifle Ashley had kept on it as a reminder of Eden Prime. Feeling like she would choke on her sorrow if she stayed much longer, she trudged on, looking for the rest of her fallen crew’s tags.

~*~

It was nearly three hours before Shepard returned to the SR2. Tali and Garrus were waiting for her; the rest of the crew seemed to avoid looking at their commander. Shepard hadn’t removed her helmet. She held the things she’d collected close, like treasures; in one fist she gripped the dog tags she’d collected by their chains, as if she could bring them back if she squeezed them tightly enough. She said nothing to either of them, holding a datapad out to Tali and the tags to Garrus. Once her squad mates had taken them she walked away without a word, her shoulders bowed under the weight of her grief. At a loss, both squadmates reluctantly returned to their posts, Tali beginning to read the data pad and Garrus making arrangements for the tags to be returned to the crew’s families.

A couple of hours later, Garrus heard the door to the battery open. He didn’t have to look to know who it was as he quickly saved and closed the calibrations he’d been working on for the Normandy’s guns (he really wanted to upgrade them, but they didn’t have enough resources to do it yet). When he turned around, he saw Shepard standing there, armor replaced with her usual casuals. She didn’t move to sit anywhere, her eyes vacant and far away. He finally got a better look at her last keepsake from Alchera: her old N7 helmet, battered but somehow still in tact.

Garrus guided his commander over to a crate that was roughly sitting height. She climbed up on it with no protest, folding her legs in front of her and holding the helmet in her lap, staring at it like it was the only real thing she could see. Her hands clenched around the outside of the piece of armor until her knuckles were ghostly white. He sat next to her for a while in silence, not sure what to say but knowing she probably wanted the company.

“Do you mind if I just sit here for a while?” her voice was quiet, sad, grieving. As if he’d kick her out in this state.

As if he’d kick her out ever.

_Where did that come from?_

“Sure, Shepard,” he stood and went back to the console, but only pretended to pay attention to what he was working on. This didn’t seem like something a bottle of alcohol could fix, and besides, the Normandy wasn’t stocked with anything good at the moment, just a bunch of Omega swill. Unless Shepard liked ryncol. No one liked ryncol. They stayed like that for a while before he heard something that sounded like choking coming from Shepard; it took him a moment of panic to realize she was crying.

She’d only cried once in front of him, when Ashley had died. But it had sounded different. She’d been yelling, angry at herself, and the water fell from her eyes without much in the way of wordless noises. He wasn’t dumb, humans weren’t the only species that cried, but humans were the only ones that cried so loudly. Not always, but the sounds coming from Shepard were concerning, choking and coughing sounds that he had heard called _sobs_. He left his console where it was to sit next to her again, still not sure what to say. The moment he sat down she left the helmet in her lap and threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

“Why?!” she choked out, the tears raining from her eyes like a faucet. “Why did I get to come back?! Why not them?! Why is it always me?!” Her voice had raised to almost a shriek before she broke down into more wordless sobbing. He heaved a sigh, wrapping one long arm around her and resting his head on top of hers.

“I don’t know, Shepard,” he rumbled, and they stayed like that for a while. Garrus could only imagine that EDI was keeping the rest of the squad and crew away, because he hadn’t had a chance to lock the door. He appreciated Shepard getting some time away from the rest of the ship. He wasn’t entirely surprised at this outcome. It was one thing to hear twenty people from the original Normandy had died in the crash, it was another to actually pick among the bones of the ship looking for their memories.

“Sorry,” she croaked after a while. He tilted his head at her.

“What for?”

“…I dunno. Breaking down on you, I guess.” She pushed herself off the crate and he stood too, handing her the N7 helmet that had fallen from her lap at some point.

“Isn’t that what friends are for?” he asked. She smiled a tiny, sad smile.

“I guess that’s true. Thanks for listening,” she turned to leave.

“Anytime,” and then she was gone. He turned back to the console, mostly running on auto pilot as he considered what had happened. What had happened? He didn’t want her to leave, he wanted her to stay where he could help her fend off her demons. Spirits knew she had a lot on her shoulders. _Maybe you’ve taken one too many hits to the head,_ he thought to himself. They were both soldiers; she didn’t need him hovering over her, worrying about every little thing. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should go talk about it with her, then shook it off and went back to his calibrations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff actually based on some old moments I had with my best friend when I needed to work some stuff out. We were only ever friends, but he was a big influence for this chapter. So I'll dedicate this one to him and all the times he's been there for me.


	6. Relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard takes a day off.

**Chapter 6**  

 

Shepard needed a break. 

She had done the best she could, but she had been going non-stop since being brought back. It was hard to fathom stopping for any sort of relaxation with the Collectors still out there, but she could feel it; if she didn’t stop for breath soon, she was going to lose her mind. She decided a movie night at a proper theater on the Citadel was in order; she didn’t mind blowing Cerberus’ money and she’d just mark it down as “mental healthcare”. After all, what were they going to do, fire their multi-billion credit investment? 

Finding someone to go with her was a whole other challenge. First she asked Tali, thinking a girls’ night out sounded good, but the quarian declined apologetically, citing the mountain of work she had for installing some new upgrades to the Normandy. Next Shepard asked Jack, who was quick to shoot her down, saying movies were boring. Joker dodged her too, insisting he didn’t trust EDI enough to leave her alone with the ship. Mordin declined before the question was asked, and Thane was nowhere to be found. She hesitantly approached the battery door last. She wasn’t avoiding Garrus, per say, but besides not thinking he wanted to go, she’d been feeling a bit awkward around him since her outburst after Alchera. 

“Hey, Shepard,” he greeted over his shoulder as she walked in. She couldn’t help wondering if a ship’s gun _really_ needed this much calibrating. 

“Hey,” Shepard wandered over to the crate she’d sat on during her last outburst, crossing her legs in front of her as she perched on it, watching him for a couple of minutes before breaking the silence. 

“Would you come to the movies with me?” She finally asked hesitantly, expecting some other excuse like everyone else. He thought for a minute, then shut down the console. 

“Sure, I could use the break,” he shrugged, and she jumped up. 

“Perfect, we’re docking at the Citadel within the hour, meet me at the theater,” she waved as she left, excited to finally do something that didn’t have guns involved. 

…Okay, maybe a few guns would be involved, but only the ones on the big screen. 

~*~ 

Shepard stood outside the theater, staring at the movie posters. The world hadn’t stopped spinning while she had been…absent, and she’d missed one of the Blasto movies. She wondered if she’d be too lost if she went to see the new one. Deciding that it was at least better than _Fleet and Flotilla_ , she bought the tickets just as her companion arrived. 

“I already got our tickets,” she grinned and gave him one, then hesitated. “I’ll let you handle your snacks, I don’t trust myself to order dextro food.” 

So that’s how Commander Shepard found herself watching Yet Another Blasto Movie (she couldn’t remember which number it was) with Garrus Vakarian. Not as awkward as she thought it would be; explosions and sensory overload was exactly what she had been hoping for, a bright and colorful distraction from their impending doom. And, to her shock and slight embarrassment, she fell fast asleep in the final thirty minutes of the movie. 

“Shepard! Hey, Shepard, wake up!” she blinked awake, and felt her face turn beet red when she realized she had dozed off. She jumped up when she noticed the lights were on and the staff had started to move in to clean up.  

“Shit, sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her stiff neck as they walked out together. “I guess I haven’t been getting enough sleep.” 

“I don’t think anyone could blame you for that,” Garrus shrugged. “You missed all the best parts though.” 

“Guess we’ll just have to go again sometime?” she suggested, tossing the cup filled with now-watered-down soda. She was almost tempted to buy another one on the Illusive Man’s dime, but decided against it. 

“Sure, after we take out the Collectors,” he agreed, and she smiled sadly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to make plans for _after the Collectors_ ; after what happened to the first Normandy, she wasn’t convinced she could get everyone out alive. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she nodded, then looked around. “I’m gonna go to the lake, I heard someone say they keep fish in it!” 

“Um, Shepard, as someone that worked here— “ 

“Oh, don’t be a spoil sport!” she laughed and took off at a jog; it was nice to forget that she had to save the galaxy. Again. It was nice to just be normal for once, stop and smell the roses. Or the fish in this case. Or potentially the not-fish.  

The lake at the Citadel was beautiful and sparkling in the fake sunlight. It was a popular destination spot, people of all species littering the edges, either quietly taking in the view, laughing with friends, or the more bold skipping rocks despite the signs that said not to. It was easy, standing here, for Shepard to imagine that the Collectors were just some nightmare, a story told to misbehaving human children to make them behave. She sighed and banished the thoughts from her head; this was a time to relax and forget about the Collectors, not brood on them. They stood at the edge of the lake, Garrus trying to insist that there were no fish in the lake and Shepard paying him utterly no mind, pointing excitedly every time she saw movement only to be disappointed by a stray leaf from the trees around the edge or a pebble thrown by a passerby. 

“Okay, Vakarian, maybe you’re right,” she admitted finally. “No fish. Boring.” He didn’t say anything but she could feel the smugness coming off of him. Damn turian. They stood there for a few minutes longer, just admiring the view, when she felt it again. That suffocating feeling she’d felt so long ago in the Mako, at the same time comfortable and terribly uncomfortable. The urge to never leave combined with the instinct to get as far away as possible. She remembered Ashley’s words from that day. 

_Just friends don’t hide for four hours hoping they’ll find you._  

Oh shit. 

“I, um, just remembered. I have this report…thing the Illusive Man wanted from me after that last mission. I gotta go take care of that. See you later?” Shepard didn’t wait for a response before exiting as fast as she could without running, leaving a confused Garrus behind her.


	7. Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Baby, it’s time to make up your mind,_  
>  _Cause I think that tonight is when our stars align,_  
>  _Honey, it’s time to leave the doubt behind,_  
>  _Take my hand cause you and I are gonna shine.”_  
>  -Shine, Jeff Williams ft Casey Lee Williams

**Chapter 7**

The lights on the Normandy had dimmed for the evening, or what passed as evening in space. Most of the crew were settling in for the night, retiring to their favorite places to relax while the night crew took their places. For Commander Shepard, that place was in the mess with a tall bottle of liquor and a shot glass.

It had been a long few days. To begin with, however awkward she had felt before, she only felt more awkward now. She avoided the battery at all costs, not ready to face whatever conversation was going to follow up the uncomfortable ending to her day off. She wasn’t even sure what she would say. To be honest, she hadn’t been sure what needed to be said at all.

She poured the drink into the shot glass and knocked it back.

She couldn’t be _attracted_ to another species. Genetics and instincts didn’t work that way. Science didn’t work that way. Biology didn’t work that way. _The human race_ most certainly didn’t work that way. It took decades just to accept relationships of the same gender, centuries to accept different ethnicities. They were millennia away from interspecies being something that _wasn’t_ taboo.

She took another drink.

Even if she _was_ attracted, biology didn’t work that way either. They couldn’t even eat the same foods for God’s sake, let alone… She shook her head, refusing to let _that_ scenario cross her mind.

Another drink was in order.

Then, as if all this wasn’t confusing enough, _then_ he wanted her help tracking down the traitor that had sold his squad out on Omega. Of course she would help, but what she saw as they tracked him down wasn’t Garrus. She couldn’t help him destroy who he was. So she found herself in the most terrifying of trust exercises, putting her head between a sniper and his mark. Sidonis walked away alive, and while she wasn’t the best at reading turian facial expressions, Garrus had seemed pissed. She couldn’t blame him; after all, she had promised to help him bring Sidonis down.

She knocked back another drink.

She lifted the empty shot glass and turned it slowly, watching the light glint off the rim. Even if she _did_ feel that way, there was no guarantee he returned the feelings. In fact, it was pretty unlikely. First Contact had made even simple things like friendships odd amongst both of their species, forget about a _relationship_. She scoffed at herself; the great Commander Shepard was sitting in her ship, afraid of rejection. Pathetic.

Another drink.

That was it. She was just going to march in there and declare her feelings and let whatever would be just be. She stood confidently, face set—

She plopped back down in her seat, filling the glass once more.

 _Pathetic, Shepard. Just pathetic._ She stared at the liquid, frowning. Why was this so hard? She’d faced Sovereign. She’d faced giant tentacle monsters. She’d faced rachni. But she couldn’t walk twenty feet and tell her best friend that she might have feelings for him. Fuck.

Another drink.

Now she was just frustrated. She couldn’t get fully drunk off this swill, just a light buzz. Shepard cursed her biotics for keeping her from getting blackout drunk and just letting Drunk Shepard handle telling Garrus how she felt. She was frustrated with herself; why couldn’t she just let their friendship be? If he didn’t feel the same, it would make their friendship awkward for the rest of time. Sometime between him first boarding the Normandy and now he had become her safe harbor, and she couldn’t bear to lose that. At the same time, if she didn’t say anything she would never know for sure, and that was almost worse.

 _That’s it, Shepard. Now or never. Get your ass in there,_ she told herself with a determined nod, knocking back one last drink before standing with conviction, pushing away from the table and towards the battery.

~*~

“Hey Shepard, need me for something?” Garrus stopped his obsessive calibrating to greet her when she came in. She tried her best to look normal as possible.

“You got a minute?”

“Sure, was just killing time anyways,” he shrugged, and she raised an eyebrow. _Only he would find complicated algorithms to be a good way to kill time._ “I wanted to thank you for your help with Sidonis.”

 _Wait, thank you?_ She blinked in surprise. So he wasn’t mad. Well that was a big weight off her chest. She vaguely heard him mention how he was now confident that no matter what happened, they would be prepared for it, distracted by how _he wasn’t mad._ She caught the tail end of his speech, though, about _whatever else_ might be after them.

“You really think there’s something worse than Collectors or Reapers?” she asked with a laugh, wandering over to her usual spot, this time letting her legs hang over the edge.

“I like to expect the worst. I might be pleasantly surprised,” she wasn’t the most practiced with turian expressions, but that was most _definitely_ a smirk. They mumbled around some small talk about their chances, which neither of them liked. _Going to lose people, no way around it_ seemed to be the consensus of everyone she’d talked to about this insane plan. About how humans and turians didn’t prepare for suicide missions the same way. Her curiosity got the better of her.

“How do turians get ready for high-risk missions?” she couldn’t help asking. The whole society seemed to be born with sticks in their asses; it was hard to think it would be any different than human preparations.

“With violence, usually. Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance, but fewer personal restrictions,” he took up a casual parade rest, probably habit after spending his whole life in the military. “Our commanders run us tight, and they know we need to blow off steam.”

That didn’t sound so strange. Plenty of wound up human soldiers would often spend hours working out, using punching bags, running, whatever else they needed to do to relax. Seemed like jitters weren’t just something humans got.

“Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full contact sparring. Whatever lets people work off stress.”

 _Full contact sparring?_ That got her attention.

“You mean turian ships have crewmen fighting each other before a mission?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice; she could only hope he wouldn’t be insulted.

“It’s supervised, of course,” he corrected. “Nobody is going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission. And it’s a good way to settle grudges amicably.” Shepard tried to imagine something like it on a human ship. Humans took things pretty personal; it’d probably be hard to implement if not downright impossible.

“I remember right before one mission, we were about to hit a batarian pirate squad. Very risky,” he began, and she leaned forward a little bit. “This recon scout and I had been at each other’s throats. Nerves, mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring.”

She.

“I assume you took her down gently?” Shepard raised an eyebrow at him, suddenly feeling unsettled. _She._

“ _Actually_ , she and I were the top-ranked hand-to-hand specialists on the ship. I had reach, but she had flexibility.”

Shepard might have still been stuck on _she_.

“It was brutal. After nine rounds, the judge called it a draw. There were a lot of unhappy betters in the training room.”

 _Right. Just sparring. Jesus, Shepard, get a grip_ , she thought angrily to herself. Was she really turning into a jealous basket case? She sincerely hoped not.

“We, ah, ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, but she had flexibility. More than one way to work off stress, I guess.”

_What._

Shepard was taken off guard, for one of the very few times in her life. She could count the number of times on one hand. Mindoir. Akuze. Virmire. Alchera. Omega. Well, this was either the perfect setup to declare everything she’d been feeling, or she needed to bid him goodnight, slink back to her room and pretend like she’d never felt them at all. She considered which one would be less painful. She shook her head to herself. _Don’t be such a baby._

“It sounds like you’re carrying some tension. Maybe I could help you get rid of it,” Shepard wondered where on earth the words came from besides her mouth. _This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…_

“I, ah, didn’t think you’d feel like sparring, Commander,” he seemed confused. Maybe purposefully confused. She felt a horrible knot in her gut. _Yes, sparring, we’ll go with that._

“What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker?” She was riding the buzz she’d worked up on the swill that she _swore_ couldn’t get her drunk. She had to be drunk right? She didn’t realize she’d moved until she was leaning on his console. _In his space._ “We could test your reach…and my flexibility.”

 _What. The. Fuck. Shepard._ She couldn’t help wondering if those words had _actually_ come out of her mouth. They didn’t sound like her. She wondered if it was too late to run away. Considering he was standing in the doorway, it probably was several minutes too late to run away. _Pull up your big girl panties and just fucking deal with it, Shepard._

“Oh. I didn’t… hm. Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars.” The last part was almost to himself. _Just you_ she wanted to say, but she was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

“Well, why the hell not?”

 _Come again?_ She must’ve heard wrong, she could have sworn he’d said—

“There’s nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you. And if we can figure out a way to make it work, then…yeah. Definitely.”

Her brain felt like when she woke up from sleep, gears slowly turning. He said yes?

She ran the words through her brain again.

_He said yes!_

She wanted to sprint through the crew deck in a victory lap. She wanted Joker to stop at the nearest planet with breathable air and scream her relief to whatever world it was. Somehow, she managed to saunter out _without_ making a fool of herself and looking _utterly confident_ if she did say so herself.

That night, she went to sleep with the biggest grin on her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this work is dedicated to Jodem, Lynndalynnda, and Jennos from my Overwatch team; they competed in a tourney and brought honor to Team Aris and the Death Blossoms clan. <3 Extra special shoutout to Jodem for helping me work through some writer's block in this chapter as well, and for being absolutely _amazing_ with her support. (Go read her Gency fic if you're an Overwatch fan, it's good stuff.)
> 
> WHEE SHEPARD FINALLY DID IT!


	8. Targets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Please don't stand so close to me,_  
>  _I'm having trouble breathing,_  
>  _I'm afraid of what you'll see, right now._ \- Distance, Christina Perry
> 
> A lesson in sniping is interrupted.

**Chapter 8**

Everything was going well. A little bit too well, if you were to ask Shepard. Yes, the Illusive Man had let them walk into a Collector trap, but she had been expecting some kind of betrayal from the man who led Cerberus. The important thing was they’d gotten what they had went for; the Reaper IFF would allow the Normandy to pass through the Omega-4 relay unharmed. Before they could go, however, EDI wanted to run some tests, and Shepard was inclined to agree. She decided to give the squad a day off the ship as a sort of final respite before walking into hell.

She chose Illium because it was nicer than Omega and closer than the Citadel. She decided to task Legion with guarding the shuttle, not keen on trying to explain that there was such a thing as _good_ geth to the common people. The rest of the team made plans, some together, some alone. Shepard found herself in a shooting range with Garrus; after all, firing expensive weapons was both of their favorite thing.

Shepard slowly unpacked her usual loadout, not adverse to practicing with her usual lineup. Today, though, she had packed one extra weapon, a sniper rifle she had found on the derelict Reaper. She’d shot it a couple of times on the way out, but she was awful with it; if her target wasn’t taking up half of the room, she wasn’t going to hit it with a sniper rifle. The scope on it made little sense to her; she was used to eye balling her pistol and not needing to aim her shotgun beyond pointing it in the enemy’s general direction. Her eyes wandered to her companion, and she couldn’t help but admire the easy way he held his weapon, landing each shot on his target as if it were second nature. Of course, it probably was by this point, the way her pistol or shotgun was just an extension of her arm. He caught her staring and she quickly averted her eyes, going through the motions of cleaning and loading her weapons as if she couldn’t see him smirking.

“See something you like, Commander?” she bristled at his amused tone, gripping the unfamiliar rifle she’d brought. It was stupid, really. Why did she even bother bringing it? Her pistol and shotgun skills were just fine.

“I was wondering,” Shepard started slowly, facing him defiantly the way she would stare down an angry krogan. “If you would show me how to use this thing.” She held up the rifle. He seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly.

“I didn’t know you wanted to learn how to be a sniper,” he set down his own gun before coming over to her. “Alright, hold it like you’re going to shoot that target over there.”

Shepard took up what she thought was a good stance, mimicking as closely as she could what she had seen Garrus do hundreds of times before and what little she remembered from her N7 training. He ‘hmm’ed for a moment before going to work, reaching around from behind her to fix her grip and posture, kicking her feet to the correct width apart, and bracing the rifle correctly against her shoulder. (She was at least partially certain that her heartrate had spiked in those moments, but she willed herself not to show it.) When he was satisfied with her position, he dropped his hands to her hips, and she felt her face turn what had to be a similar shade of red to her hair. For several moments, she didn’t move; with a deep breath to steady herself, she fired.

She missed.

“Distracted?” he asked lazily, and she could hear the smug expression without having to look. She glared through the scope in frustration.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

“Combat’s going to have distractions, _Commander_ ,” she hated and loved the way he said the title. “If you can’t even handle this…” Incensed, she fired again.

The hole in the wall was a little closer this time.

“Such a shame; what would your fans think?” he may as well have been laughing at her. The light pressure on her hips may as well have been an anchor tied to her middle for how distracting it was. She shook her head to clear it of all the _horrible,_ definitely _not_ Commander-like thoughts dancing around it and focused on the target. She took a few breaths, trying to imagine the target was a Husk. She exhaled as she pulled the trigger.

It wasn’t a headshot, but it certainly hit this time. She grinned.

“Maybe I’m not so hopeless after all,” she nodded, then noticed her omni tool blinking rapidly. She pulled away, setting her rifle aside as she answered.

“Commander Shepard, we need you to return to the Normandy,” EDI’s soothing voice came through the tool. Shepard frowned.

“Why?”

“We’ve been attacked.” Shepard’s heart stopped.

“EDI, _what happened?”_

“Collectors boarded the ship and took the crew captive.” The Commander’s mind went straight to her most frail crewmember.

“What about Joker?”

“Jeff is fine,” EDI’s voice didn’t waver, and Shepard just barely noticed the familiarity in the AI’s voice. “He removed the shackles on my programming so I could fly us to safety. I’ve given the shuttle auto pilot our coordinates so you can find us.”

“What about Kelly? Chakwas? Kenneth and Gabby?”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” the AI sounded truly apologetic. “They’re all gone.”

Shepard felt the emptiness in the air, the cold clutches of concern gripping her heart, the fear bundling in her stomach. She didn’t know what the Collectors did with the humans they took, but none had returned. She felt like the whole room was shaking, but she quickly realized it was just her trembling. In rage, in fear, in sorrow, she wasn’t sure, but she did know one thing. She wasn’t giving up on her crew. She was going after them.

“Understood,” her voice was mechanical as she let the Commander role take over, shoving her emotions to the side. “Forward a recording of this conversation to the rest of the squad and tell them to return to the shuttle immediately. Shepard out.” She turned to see Garrus watching her carefully, as if waiting for her to fall to pieces, ready to put her back together like always.

“I’m fine,” she answered before he could ask, throwing her guns back in their carrying cases as quickly as she could. “We have to get back to the ship.”

“Shepard, this isn’t-“

“Don’t say it’s not my fault,” Shepard’s voice was low, almost threatening. “If I hadn’t taken the whole squad off ship, we could have prevented this. I left the Normandy defenseless. If not for EDI those things probably would’ve accidentally killed Joker. As Commander, it’s one hundred percent my fault. But I’m going to fix it.” Both of them done packing, their eyes met.

“The Omega-4 Relay?” he asked, but he knew the answer.

“The Omega-4 Relay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me so many problems. Thanks again to Jodem for kicking my butt and getting me to finish the thing. I still feel like it's not exactly how I want it, but it'll do.
> 
> Make sure to leave comments, and bookmark if you want to stay informed of when I update! <3 Love you guys.
> 
> (Also, I've decided to include lyrics of songs that inspired chapters in their summaries. I have a whole playlist on Spotify just for this fic, so I wanted to share it how I could.)


	9. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well, she locks all the doors and turns, says,_  
>  _"We will always be safe here in this bed,_  
>  _All I see scares me, and no one waits forever._ \- All I See; Lydia
> 
> Shepard isn't ready to tell the squad. Jack doesn't give a shit.

**Chapter 9**

It was thirty minutes until the Normandy arrived at her destination. Shepard lay in her quarters, wondering _just how badly_ the squad needed her, or if she could take a nap instead of marching into the Collectors’ base. She felt achy and sleepy and wonderful and truly did not want to leave her bed. She had to remind herself forcefully that she was Commander Shepard and her crew was depending on her to rescue them. She regretfully rolled out of her bed, throwing off her covers as she wandered over to the bathroom; there was still water droplets on the mirror from her shower about an hour and a half ago. She caught sight of herself as she stretched.

Her arms – and presumably her legs too – were covered in light scratches and red splotches, as if she’d given a cat a bath. If that cat had sandpaper for skin. Funny enough, they didn’t hurt, though she was a little itchy. She turned bright red when she remembered her incredibly uncomfortable conversation about _chaffing_ with Mordin (though she had to admit, however regretfully, that the ointments he’d given her would come in handy). She dressed quickly, pulling on her N7 labeled sweat suit, knowing she’d be changing into her armor shortly anyways. It was then that she noticed something else. Just high enough that her hoodie wouldn’t cover it was a perfect little oval of needly teeth marks.

She considered a few different scenarios. Scenario One: leaving the bitemark visible. She imagined the _instant_ whispering from the squad and knew she was definitely _not_ ready for them to know about this. Especially when she wasn’t even sure what _this_ was. Scenario Two: immediately donning her armor with helmet. It would draw suspicion, as she hated wearing her helmet if she didn’t need it to breathe. Questions would lead to eventual answers, and she wasn’t sure EDI would keep quiet. Scenario Three: cover it up with a bandage, say she cut herself, and deal with the squad finding out after they were done with the Collectors. Which could be never if they all died. This seemed the best course of action, and she quickly began to wrap a long, cloth bandage around her neck, safety pinning it in place before she ventured out into the rest of the ship.

It was eerie seeing the ship so empty. The only people on board was her squad and Joker. She couldn’t help stopping at the medbay, sadly looking through the windows at the empty chair Chakwas always sat in as she did her paperwork. She forced herself to turn away and head up to the bridge to check in with Joker before arrival.

“Hey Commander,” he greeted. His voice was strained, even though his greeting was bright as ever. Shepard felt a pang of guilt; this was all her fault, and they both knew it. He glanced over his shoulder and she noticed his glance at her rather obvious bandage. “I’m gonna guess you had a little fun before we go knocking on Hell’s door?” Her guilt vanished.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joker,” she used her Commander voice, but the pilot wasn’t phased.

“Oh please, do you think we’re all blind? You’ve been pining after Garrus ever since you dragged him off Omega,” he scoffed, barely paying attention to the ship’s controls.

“I have not!”

“ _Sure_ you haven’t,” he winked at her over his shoulder, and she rolled her eyes, turning to stomp out of the cockpit. “You’ve got about another twenty minutes if you wanted to _do_ anything before that.” She wished she could slam the automatic door behind her; this was exactly the kind of thing she’d wanted to avoid. They needed to be focused on the _mission,_ not her love life. She stormed down to engineering, wondering if Jack would mind if she borrowed the cargo hold for a few minutes before donning her armor. She didn’t get that far before running into the biotic heading for the elevator herself.

“The fuck is that shit on your neck, Shepard?” she demanded without so much as a ‘hello’. The commander bristled at the demand; it wasn’t any of Jack’s business!

“Nothing,” she answered lamely, turning to get back on the elevator and avoid this conversation. The doors glowed blue and slammed shut with a creak of complaining metal. Shepard sighed and crossed her arms as she faced Jack again.

“Not sure now’s the best time for secrets, _Commander_ ,” Jack sneered the word out. Shepard frowned. She considered Jack a good friend, maybe even one of her best, but she could be damn infuriating sometimes.

“I cut myself,” Shepard’s excuse was lame, but she held her chin up as if daring Jack to challenge her. The biotic took the opportunity to strike; quick as a snake, she pulled the bandage off the commander’s neck before she could react. A sneering smirk spread across Jack’s face.

“I knew it!” she declared triumphantly. “The commander of the Normandy’s into kinky alien sex!” Shepard frantically made shushing noises, casting a glance at engineering where she knew Tali would be preparing.

“Could you keep it down?” she whispered, and Jack laughed at her.

“What, worried everyone’s gonna be talking behind your back?” Shepard didn’t respond, staring uncomfortably at the floor. Jack crossed her arms, suddenly looking serious.

“Shepard, listen. Do you regret it?”

“What? No!” Shepard’s head snapped up, fire back in her eyes.

“Well, then what’s the problem?”

“I just…” the commander took a deep breath. “I wasn’t ready to tell the whole crew, okay?”

“Do you really think anyone on this ship would respect you any less because _you got laid?_ ” Jack asked incredulously. “Shit, Shep, I’m pretty sure half the people on this ship were wishing they got laid before marching off on a suicide mission. All you’re doing is hurting poor little Garrus’ feelings.” Her voice turned mocking on the last few words, and Shepard felt her cheeks heat up despite her desperate attempt at a poker face.

“How did you-?”

“Shepard, how many aliens on this ship have teeth that sharp?”

“…Point taken.”

“Alright,” Jack flashed a mischievous grin as she released the biotics holding the elevator closed. “Now that your shit’s all sorted out, let’s go kick some Collector ass!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of smut here but I want to keep this piece rated T. ^^; You all know what happened, anyways. Love you guys, leave comments, they are my lifeblood!


	10. Chained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"At night the earth will rise,_  
>  _And I'll think of you each time I watch from distant skies,_  
>  _Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite,_  
>  _I'll think of you each time they wash me in their light,_  
>  _And I'll fall in love with you again,"_ -Starlight, Starset
> 
> Shepard is stranded on Earth.

**Chapter 10**

Shepard was pissed. Relieved of duty, cut off from her crew, removed from her ship, publically disgraced, practically chained to a desk, denied extranet use, and assigned a constant guard that called her ‘Commander’ even though that wasn’t her title anymore. She knew the lieutenant meant well, but it was damn insulting. And no matter how loud she screamed about the Reapers, no one was listening.

The absolute worst part was the loneliness. After spending so much time on the Normandy surrounded by friends and crewmates, her quiet office was absolutely suffocating. Worst of the worst was that she’d finally admitted her feelings for Garrus, and they hadn’t had time to really discuss exactly what _they_ were. With no contact in or out of her little prison on Earth, she wondered if she’d ever know, or if she’d be killed by the Reapers before she could find out. Or if he would, and that possibility was even worse.

The one privilege she was allowed was the shooting range. Her favorite weapons had been confiscated on her return, so she was left with the most basic of weapons. Each session she was followed by her guard, a friendly lieutenant named James Vega. She didn’t mind him as a person, but she couldn’t help how bitter she was about basically being babysat. Occasionally he would join her in her target practice, but more often he left her to her thoughts. She wondered if he could tell how frustrated she was.

The pistol and shotgun available to her offered no challenges, other than correcting for the bad accuracy of the basic weapons. Her eyes often wondered to the sniper rifle nearby; she’d been steadily learning how to use it before this all blew up in her face, and her favorite teacher was lightyears away. She’d only resisted the weapon’s siren call for about a week before giving in.

There were two models on the wall, the Widow and the Valiant. She took the Widow first, reminded of the one she’d given to Garrus once long ago as a gift, back when they were still only friends. She remembered reading in the shop she bought it in that only experienced snipers used the Widow. Something about the recoil. Curious, she stepped up to the line, aimed at one of the targets, and fired.

Shepard almost instantly regretted it as her arm was twisted up and shoved back; for a painful moment she was afraid she’d dislocated it. After a moment, though, her arm felt normal again, if a little sore. She carefully placed it back on the wall and reached for the Valiant instead. It proved much easier to handle. She carefully lined up her shots and fired, straightening her posture and correcting her own grip, reminded painfully of her first lesson. The limits of the shooting range offered little challenge, but she was surprised that she felt just a little bit better.

“Hey Vega, do you think you could get me a visor?” she asked one day; she’d graduated to moving targets, which were much more difficult. Besides, she’d always wondered if the visor really helped.

“Maybe, but if you’re looking to be an expert sniper, it’ll just be a crutch,” Vega rolled his shoulders as he put down his assault rifle. Shepard fired the last bullet in her clip, then lowered the rifle to a rest position.

“I know, but my expert trainer is off world at the moment,” she grumped. Vega tilted his head, just slightly, reminding Shepard of a puppy.

“He really meant a lot to you, huh?” she glanced away at the question, avoiding the lieutenant’s curious stare. She’d shared quite a bit with James in the moments when she just desperately needed someone to listen to her, to remind herself that everything that happened wasn’t a dream.

“He means the world to me,” Shepard shrugged at her guard, or maybe at this point he was her friend. “It’s gonna sound crazy, but using this—” she lifted the rifle for a moment “—kinda makes me feel…not as alone. You know?”

“You ever tell him any of that?” Vega reached for a water bottle and tossed Shepard one. She took a long drink, wishing the alliance would allow her some of that Asari liquor she’d gotten so drunk on ages ago on the original Normandy. She thought about the things that _had_ been talked about, but they’d been decidedly _not_ about feelings. About attraction, sure, but for all she knew, it was all physical.

“…No.” she lowered her eyes. “I was always too worried he didn’t feel the same.”

“But didn’t you…?”

“James, you know that doesn’t always mean something,” Thinking back, she fervently wanted it to mean something. “I’m not making the same mistake twice. If I ever see him again, I’m telling him everything.”

A tense silence fell over them as she placed the rifle carefully back in its place on the wall. She wondered if she shouldn’t have said so much, if Vega might say something to the Alliance. She didn’t think he would intentionally cause her trouble, but the Alliance seemed determined to tarnish her reputation, and much of humanity still remembered First Contact vividly.

“Vega, do you think I’m weird?” she asked suddenly. He seemed thoughtful as he took a moment to compose his answer.

“I think you’re a hero, ma’am,” he only brought out the ma’ams when he didn’t want to say what he actually thought.

“That’s not an answer, James.”

“Lola, you banged a spikey alien that looks like a dinosaur. I think you’re crazy,” he laughed as she punched him in the arm.

That’s when she got word Anderson wanted to see her.


End file.
